


Tell Me It's All Alright

by Lokiscribe



Series: This Was My Home [4]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mutilation, Platonic Cuddling, Ramsay is his own warning, Rape/Non-con Elements, Season/Series 05, Winterfell, flaying, maybe Theon/Sansa if you squint, most tags are only mentioned rather than explicitly present
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 07:58:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10715400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokiscribe/pseuds/Lokiscribe
Summary: Set during season 5. Theon/Sansa comfort. That's pretty much it! If Ramsay's treatment of Theon and Sansa made you super sad, this may be the story for you. I figured these characters deserved a pleasant moment!





	Tell Me It's All Alright

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really not sure what got into me, but I wrote a comfort story?? I usually only do that when there's lots of hurt beforehand! So it's not necessarily my usual, but I'm happy with how it came out.

The key slid easily into the lock, and Reek breathed a sigh of relief. More often than not, his mangled fingers struggled to fit the key into the hole, sometimes dropping it altogether. He felt mortified when this happened, because it was a reminder of how much his body had changed. He didn’t like to think about it; had tried so hard to push away all memory of his former self, and he’d all but succeeded... until recently. 

Now that he was once again reunited with Sansa Stark in Winterfell, it was becoming nearly impossible to keep the vivid images of his former life from invading his consciousness. He _hated_ it. Theon was trouble and danger and pain, and Reek was _not_ him! He was good, loyal Reek, forever and ever. 

Of course, he hadn’t always been Reek, but in the darkness of the Dreadfort’s dungeon, it was easy to forget. Better, even. Reek had been born to the bastard of Bolton, welcomed into a cruel world by whips and flaying knives and more scars than he could count. Reek was his true identity now. He knew his name and place and wouldn’t dare act above his lowly station. 

But being near Sansa, in the place where they had grown up together, summoned recollections of _Theon_ that he could not avoid. Whenever he struggled to keep a grip on the most basic of objects, he remembered how he’d once been able to fire a bow with unparalleled precision, instilling envy into the other lads and providing wide-eyed and wanton girls one more reason to fawn over him. Now, due to his smell and his clumsiness, most of the maids would hold their noses and scurry away as quickly as possible when he crossed their path. No longer did he receive any sort of acknowledgment or approval from women, whether they were dazzling or unsightly, highborn or low. Theon Greyjoy had always prided himself on his skill in matters of an _intimate_ nature, but the only female attention Reek received was when the maids (those who could tolerate his presence long enough, that is) laughed at him for his awkwardness. It was for this reason that Reek felt so thankful that unlocking the door had gone smoothly. No one had cause to make fun of him. At least not this time. 

Placing the key carefully back into his ragged pocket, Reek bent silently to pick up Lady Sansa’s breakfast tray. It was he who brought meals to Lord Ramsay’s wife each day. “You’re the only one I can trust, Reek,” his master regularly told him, gloved finger wagging in his face. “I’m surrounded by strangers here in Winterfell, and I won’t have any Stark sympathizers trying to steal my beloved wife. _You_ , Reek… You will never betray me.” 

It was true. Reek would not disobey his master, not ever. He couldn’t afford to lose any more fingers or toes, and besides, he owed his master loyalty for the leniency and generosity afforded to him. Lord Ramsay allowed him to eat several days a week now, and always granted him another chance when he made mistakes. He flayed him first, of course, but Reek deserved that for failing his master. And he didn’t deserve to eat at all, so it was most gracious of his Lord to permit it. Really, his master was very kind to him. Reek was grateful. 

His stomach twisted, though, as he pushed the door open, its loud creak making him wince slightly. He did not want to see Sansa, not only because seeing her made him forget his place, but because six days earlier she had asked him to help her escape, and it wouldn’t be long before she realized he had not done as she asked. He had nodded yes when she told him to promise her, because what else could he have done? He’d just wanted to leave the room, and the only way she would have allowed him to do that was if he gave his word. But of course he couldn’t place that candle in the tower window as she had asked. Ramsay would find out - he always found out - and they would both hurt for it. Lady Sansa did not deserve that. Lord Ramsay put her through enough torment already. For Theon, at least, punishment was justified, but Sansa had done nothing to warrant such pain. 

He frequently heard her sobbing when he entered the room, even if she was facing away from him, like she usually was. Reek was fervently thankful that Lord Ramsay had never seen fit to use him for sexual pleasure, but all of Ramsay’s attentions had given him quite a creative mind when it came to imagining potential tortures, so it did not take much effort for him to understand the constant agony Sansa must be feeling. He pitied her; oh, how it made his heart ache to see her suffer! They’d never been particularly close as children, but Theon had known the eldest Stark girl since her infancy and hated to see her come to any harm. That he now willingly chose not to defend her in her time of need made Sansa’s anguish even more excruciating to observe. How very weak he was… 

Then again, that’s what flaying could do to a person. It carved out one’s very soul just as it peeled back layers of skin. A man could never be the same afterward. 

Reek shuddered and forced the horrid thought from his mind. The last thing he needed was for his hands to start shaking even harder. If he were to drop the tray on his Lady’s floor, the master would whip him until there was no skin left on his back. 

He quietly set the tray on the table, noting that he heard no sound coming from the bed. Unusual, but not inconceivable. There had been other mornings when Lady Sansa did not cry. 

Having done his duty, he moved to turn around, then stopped short. Sansa was facing toward him today, but she did not seem to see him. Her eyes were open and staring straight ahead, but a defeated glaze covered her pupils, reflecting the lack of hope she felt. A sniff confirmed that while she was not crying in this moment, she had been recently. 

Theon hesitated. He should just leave. That’s what his master expected of him. Deliver the meal and get out. Lord Ramsay had never explicitly told him he wasn’t to speak with Sansa, but the order was unnecessary. Reek knew any communication with Sansa was cause for suspicion of conspiracy. Right now, however, something was different. He’d seen her sad before; he’d seen her desperate. But never had he seen her look so hopeless. It did not matter whether she thought he’d placed the candle in the tower or not. Clearly she believed herself to be trapped in this hell, possibly forever. And perhaps she was right. There was no escape. Not ever. Theon Greyjoy learned this the hard way, and now Reek knew it well. 

He certainly deserved everything Ramsay had done to him, and he knew there would be no redemption in his future. But that did not preclude performing an act of kindness, no? 

Jerkily, he took one step toward Sansa, then another. _If Ramsay finds out…_ But why would he? His Lordship only visited the Lady after dark, to bed her as was his right. As long as she remained locked in her room and continually fed, he cared not what happened to her otherwise. Sansa didn’t deserve this, Reek thought miserably. Not her. It had been years since he’d seen her, but she was always such an innocent child. Why did it have to be her to whom this happened? 

Caught up in these thoughts, he found himself standing before Sansa, next to the bed. Still she did not acknowledge him. “Lady Sansa,” he called softly. Her body did not move, but her eyes flicked upward. “Theon,” she stated flatly. He could tell her tone was due not to displeasure but to her being so thoroughly defeated that she could summon no emotional reaction. 

“Reek, My Lady,” he reminded her, causing her eyes to slide away from him again. She had to know his _name_ , but it hadn’t been his intention to push her away. With great effort, he got to his knees, suppressing a whimper as his bruised and bony knees hit the unforgiving stone of the floor. Placing his left hand on the bed frame to steady himself, he reached out his right and took Sansa’s hand in his. He felt her shrink away at first, and he nearly let go, but she seemed to have a change of heart and suddenly took hold of him, tightening her grip to the extent that he almost let out a gasp of pain. But if it would bring her relief, he would withstand the discomfort. And anyway, it was nothing compared to what he had faced at his master’s hand. 

Reek knelt silently, allowing her to hold onto him. Her bottom lip was beginning to tremble, and he could see that, in the presence of someone safe, she was close to letting loose all of the grief she so constantly held inside of her. He gave her hand a squeeze, and she looked at him, eyes brimming with tears. 

He shifted uncomfortably. “Is there anything I can do for you, My Lady?” He’d meant for his words to be consoling, but to his dismay, Sansa pulled away from him. “You can’t help me.” 

Reek felt color rise in his cheeks. He knew she was right, and it shamed him. Nothing he was willing to do for her would improve her quality of life to any significant degree. But still… surely there was _something_ he could do? The poor girl never had so much as a friendly interaction these days. She saw no one except Ramsay and Reek. The master would not permit anyone else to enter her room. 

What could he do for her? 

Scanning the room for ideas, he noticed a washrag sitting atop a table on the opposite side of the bed. Glancing back at the multiple bruises that littered her pale arms, he rose with a soft grunt and shuffled over to fetch the water pitcher he’d brought with her meal. Clasping the pitcher with both hands, he carried it to the nightstand and gingerly set it down. Then he took the washrag and dipped it into the cool water, making sure to wet it thoroughly. 

He looked over at Sansa, folding the damp cloth as he did so. She had her back facing him, so he doubted she was aware of his intent. “My Lady?” he asked hesitantly. “My Lady, I’m going to do something about the bruising…” He received no response. It would be better to have her permission, but he reckoned she’d not mind if he went ahead anyway… certainly there were things far worse done to her without her permission. And on a nightly basis, too. Poor girl. Poor, innocent Sansa. 

The sheets were already dirtied with blood, sweat, and semen, so Theon did not worry about his filth rubbing off on the bedding. He climbed awkwardly onto the bed, struggling to find a good position. It was difficult to minimize his discomfort while also maintaining balance. Though his knees were already aching, Theon found he could best access Sansa’s body if he sat back on his heels. He grimaced as the stubs of his missing toes pushed up against his shoes, but forced himself to ignore it. 

Carefully, he pushed the sleeve of her nightgown up over her shoulder, revealing an array of ugly bruises in various shades of purple, blue, and green. Sansa shuddered violently when he touched her, craning her neck to stare up at him with wide eyes. Reek recognized all too well the fear, uncertainty, and distrust he saw there, and did not blame her for it. As a form of explanation, he silently showed her the wet rag. Her expression didn’t change, so he slowly lowered the cloth down onto her arm. She looked at it as if she didn’t know what it was. Attempting a weak smile, Theon gently pressed down, hoping the cold water would provide some comfort. She gasped, her head falling back onto the pillow. Theon pulled away. “No - don’t stop,” she whispered, turning her head toward him once more. “Please.” 

Reek obliged. He tried not to press very hard or to linger on any one spot - both because he did not wish to hurt her and because it would be unwise to stay too long, lest his misbehavior be found out. As he tended to her, he realized her arms were covered not only in bruises, but in dried semen. Once, Theon Greyjoy might have found this wholly amusing, but Ramsay’s Reek only felt a twinge of sympathy for a fellow victim. From that point forward, he made sure to wipe away any substance he came across on her blemished skin. 

As he pressed lightly on her delicate wrist, he inquired, “My Lady?”

To his surprise, Sansa rolled onto her back in response. 

“Would you like for me to do the same to your other arm?”

Sansa’s mouth twitched into something that almost could have been a smile. “I’d like that very much,” she whispered. Moving her left arm onto her pillow so she wouldn’t have to lean on it, she shifted so that her right arm lay on top of her body. 

“Thank you, Theon,” she murmured, meeting his eyes. 

He twitched at being called by _that name_ , but he did not correct her. He merely nodded uneasily. Again he dipped the washrag into the water pitcher before continuing, just as he had on the other side. This time, though, she was facing him, and Reek found himself unable to withstand her gaze for an extended period of time. He was forced to stare intently at her arm as he ministered to it, and then at the bed sheets as he turned to wring out the damp cloth into the pitcher. 

He started when he turned around to find Sansa sitting upright, staring at him intensely. And then, without warning, she pulled him into a hug. “Thank you,” she whispered again. Theon was so taken aback that he didn’t know how to react. He was surprised enough to be hugged in the first place, but then she didn’t let go after a brief moment, as he expected her to. Frozen in place, he allowed her to hold him, feeling trapped by her proximity. Only slowly did he realize that it felt good to have positive human contact. The warmth of her body heat was comforting, even if the skin of her exposed arms was cold, and he felt himself relax into her touch. Haltingly, he lifted his own arms and wrapped them around her as well. Gods, he hadn’t felt this good, this _safe_ since… since before the Starks left Winterfell, really. Far, far too long ago. It was probably much the same for Sansa, he realized. Her time with Ramsay was shorter than his, but before that, she’d been with Joffrey Baratheon, and more than a few rumors had reached the North on how he treated her. 

“Have… have I contented you, My Lady?” He desperately wanted to hear her say yes; to know that he’d lessened her suffering even in the slightest way. 

Sansa broke the embrace, taking hold of his hands. “Yes. This was wonderful. Thank you.” 

He shrugged. _I wish I could do more_ , he wanted to say, but he feared she would ask him about the candle, and he couldn’t face the shame of having to deny her. It was selfish, but not entirely… after all, he didn’t want to ruin the happiness he’d just created. 

Sansa studied him, as if trying to determine what he was thinking. He felt anxiety rise at the idea that she might ask him directly, but she only let out a sigh. “Let’s lie down.” 

Reek looked at her, startled. “What? Why?” 

“Because I want to know what it feels like to lie next to someone other than _Ramsay_. The name of their Lord and Master was spoken with hatred and resentment. They were extremely lucky, Theon thought, that neither Ramsay nor Myranda nor any of the Bastard’s Boys were around to hear her use that tone. 

“O-okay. Whatever you wish, My Lady.” He shifted himself into a lying position, letting Sansa pull the soiled sheets up over them. She stayed facing him, their foreheads practically touching. Reek looked up at her in wonder. “How can you stand to be so near me?” 

“Because of the smell?”

“Yes. Not many can tolerate it.”

Sansa looked at him honestly. “I’d rather tolerate your smell every minute of the day than have to yield to Ramsay Bolton each night.” 

Well, she certainly had a point there. He nodded his understanding. “I’m sorry.” 

She didn’t respond. In another situation, she might have answered, “It’s alright,” but in fact, nothing was alright. No matter how much comfort they each felt in this moment, Reek would soon return to his master, and Ramsay would soon return to his wife. 

But maybe they could forget about that for a while longer… Theon hadn’t felt less afraid since before he woke up tied to a cross in the dungeons of the Dreadfort. 

“Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?”

He looked at her fearfully. 

“It won’t be long, I promise. I think I’ll have no issue falling asleep. You are with me.”

He felt a rush of gratitude toward her, for making him feel wanted and valued. For allowing him to touch her, to lie with her. For giving him a chance to serve willingly rather than forcibly. 

He snuggled closer, putting a bony arm around her. It couldn’t have been very comfortable, but she smiled and closed her eyes, looking more at peace than he’d seen her in a long while. Perhaps nothing about their situation was alright, but now, in this moment, at least they could pretend otherwise.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from the song All Alright by Megan & Liz.


End file.
